


A Flutter Of Feathers

by 7CuteCreationImagination7



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magical Claudia Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, One Shot, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7CuteCreationImagination7/pseuds/7CuteCreationImagination7
Summary: The wingfic no-one asked for.This has a ton of innacuracies but hey, i'm bored.Stiles wakes up one morning, and things are rather different.





	A Flutter Of Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. 
> 
> 1\. This is a oneshot. I hope this isn't too ooc, or too weird. I'm sorry if it is.  
> 2\. I hope you like it. If you don't, please comment as to how to make it better. Thx  
> 3\. I love you, I hope you have a great day. God bless You :)

Stiles lay in his bed and nuzzled his nose into his pillow, groaning slightly at the irritating sound of the alarm beeping at the other side of the room.

Another morning in Beacon Hills. Another day of highschool. No. Wait. Saturday. But Pack meeting.

He felt too old to be in highschool anymore. Wasn't the whole "I'm a frail and mortal human who has done awful things" spiel supposed to wait until he was at least thirty?

He sighed, and stumbled out of the bed, barely even opening his eyes to glance at the books and papers strewn haphazardly around his laptop. The teenager ignored the catastrophic mess that was his bedroom, but whether his ability to ignore it was a result of pure physical exhaustion, the normalization of his situation or out of the knowledge that he now knew how to banish, kill and befriend menticores and golems. His life. Seriously. 

A hand sloppily slapped down on the black box, silencing it immediately, the obnoxious bleeping leaving the room.

Ah. The bliss of silence. He blearily smiled at the silent black box, and then frowned. He felt warm. Unusually warm. Nevermind. Hopefully the supernatural creature of peace and warm weather had come to Beacon Hills. And pigs would fly.

Stiles went to walk towards the bathroom, and frowned at his lack of balance. Sure, he didn’t have great co-ordination, but it was usually better than this. Stiles tripped and stumbled his way into his bathroom, and grimaced at the purple-black shadows beneath his eyes. His hair was a greasy mess, looking like a tornado had swept through it in the night, He had his usual pale skin, a sprinkling of dark moles, and amber-brown eyes. Normal.

Then he frowned.

Feathers. White fluffy feathers. White fluffy feathers which were attatched to wings. White fluffy feathers which were attatched for flipping wings which were protruding from his back.

 

A rather impressive shriek erupted from his mouth as he stared at his reflection, before his hand went to touch his back , wondering if this was a weird dream, or if the effects of sleep-deprivation were getting worse.

But then his hand collided with muscle, sinew and bone, which sat, alive, under the fluffy down. There were massive, bony, muscular winds stretching from his back.

What. Like, seriously. He already had werewolves, and kanimas, and whatever Theo was, and the whole Nemeton mess to deal with. Wasn't invading his mind and body enough?! Stiles rubbed his eyes, and decided to look at this clincially. There wasn't much that freaking out would do. Apart from mabye smash another vase. 

To be fair, they weren’t that big. If he put on a big jacket, and stood with his back straight it could look like there was nothing wrong. Just like, if you got Scott to wear contacts, he looked normal when he got angry. He could do this. They were hideable.

But they were still wings. Like, big bird wings. And they were sticking out of his back. His preeviously normal back.

Sure, he had felt back-pain for the last few weeks, and some of his shirts had become rather tight. But Stiles had just assumed that it was a result of werewolves slamming him into walls, or the last of growing pains.

Not wings. 

It was a testament to how weird Stiles’ life was, or how little sleep he had gotten after a night of researching supernatural creatures that he just sighed, and stepped into the shower. Wings or no wings, he needed to shower, becuase otherwise the pack would scent him until he smelt like them. Werewolves. Honestly.

The wings obeyed him when he clenched his shoulder muscles, and folded behind his back. He rubbed shampoo into his greasy, messy hair, and tried to ignore the feeling of wet feathers on his back. He was not succesful in his second endeavour, and he kept freaking out as he thought that a bird had flown into the bathroom.

Stiles pulled on pants and jeans. Brushed his hair. And then stared at his shirt.

Oh. Wings. Right. Shirts don't have wing sized holes.

Stiles knew that anyone else would be screaming, calling people hysterically— the full works. And mabye most people would be more suprised. But memories were now flooding into his head, memories which meant something as he stared at the new limbs. His mom had always referred to him as her “uskrzydlony chłopiec”. Her winged boy. She had called him Mieczyslaw when he was in trouble, or when she had been very proud, but he had always been her little aniołek, until she got sick.

His mom had also called him her murderer and had tried to convince him to jump out of a window, but that hadn’t been her fault. She had been sick. The wing thing had been happening since he had been born.

Maybe she had known. Maybe, just maybe, there was a reason why his real name meant “sword of glory”. Perhaps his mom's real name meant something too. Before he could think any longer, the second alarm began beeping. he had fifteen minutes util he had to get in the car and meet up with the pack. Okay. 

Stiles grabbed some scissors, cut a hole in the back of his shirt, and ended up hitting both himself and the wall in multiple places in trying to get his wings into the hole. The small bathroom didn't accomodate the large wings, which ached to streth out fully, but he couldn't let them do so, because otherwise he would destroy the bathroom more. 

One broken glass, a discarded vest, two shirts and an oversized hoodie later, Stiles was hunched forward in the jeep, wondering as to how he was supposed to sit dow if his wings were on his back. Were there special chairs for winged people?

He hoped that someone, especially Scott, would have answers. If he didn't, Lydia would, or at least, she would find out by the end of the day. 

It could be worse, he thought as he pulled in to park. Scott would be able to relate to the whole, “I am no longer fully human over-night and I don’t know why.” type of experience. And everyone would relate to the whole " what do you mean i'm not human" freak out that he was passively wathcing his brain go through.

Scott sat in the cafe, Liam playing a game on his phone as Kira and Lydia amicably bickered over which University was better for bio-chemistry.

“Hi.”

Lydia frowned at him as Malia, Scott and Liam all sniffed at the air, and looked suspiciously at him. 

“ Something smells weird. Like… birds. But sweeter.” Liam stated, scowling at Stiles nervously as Scott smiled proudly at his were-son.

Well, thought Stiles, that’s a horrifyingly blunt way to put it. Accurate, but yeah. Birds, but sweeter. Cool. Not disturbing. Not unsettling. Cool.

“ Yeah. Uh. Is it okay if we go to the preserve. I'll explain there. But first, I need an iced coffee, because otherwise… Scott knows what an overtired Stiles is like.”

Scott grimaced as he explained to a bewildered Malia, Liam and Kira about the tri-all-nighter that Stiles had pulled after the nogitsune had left. Excess tiredness in Stiles went in three stages : wanting to hug everyone, wanting to talk to everyone, and then turning into a puddle of emotions. So he needed his caffeine. Now.

Liam and Malia both flanked him in the back of his Jeep, Lydia driving through the ambiguous short-cut she knew, the werewolves occasionally scent marking him as they talked. Werewolves were intensely tactile, and got rather over-protective of their friends and family. Therefore, as Scott designated Stiles as his second-in-command, everyone decided that Stiles was theirs.

They reached the field, and waved towards Peter’s window, and Stiles sighed. 

This was not going to be easy to explain. The teenager opened his moth, closed it, opened it again, and then sighed. There was a quicker way of doing this.

He pulled the hoodie and shirt on in one swift move, wanting to get this over and done with quickly, and he stretched his wings out.

It hadn’t occurred to Stiles that he had never fully stretched his wings out at his house, due to lack of space and sleepiness, so he had no clue what he was doing.

Which explained why he wasn’t quite sure why he was glowing white light. It felt amazing to do it, like when you finally walk after having broken a leg. He felt a power underneath his skin, warming his body and filling him with energy.

Eventually, after a few seconds of the amazing feeling, he tired, so he folded his wings back, and wondered at the new development. He was so not human..

Scott was gaping, his scarlet eyes wide, Malia was frowning a mixture of bewilderment and awe on her face , Liam looked like he was going pass out, like this was one too many supernatural things in his life, Kira was texting someone frantically as Lydia stared, wide eyed.

“ So I didn’t know about the glowing part. I knew about the wings though. They showed up this morning. Do any of you know what I am? Is there anything in the Argent or Hale Bestiary?.”

The murmurs of "no", "don't think so" and " what's a bestiary" answered his question. Oh. Well that sucked

Stiles looked up to see Peter, the man grinning greedily, looking prideful and interested as he looked at Stiles new limbs. The older man nodded at his daughter, and then spoke, his voice ringing out across the field.

“ There isn’t a recollection of this type of thing in the Bestiary. There was, once, before the fire. But a woman stole it. Her name was Czesława Lewandowski, and she stole it because she had the genes for it, but not the gift. I assume that her offspring had gained it.”

Stiles gaped at Peter, connected the metaphorical dots in his head, and then shouted, “ So that’s why you wanted to give me the bite! You knew all along! ”  
Scott’s red alpha-eyes flashed at Peter, as the other wolves growled lowly at the older wolf. Exclamations of " You offered him the bite!", " You idiot" and " Can someone please explain what is going on" emiting from the mouthes of bared animalistic teeth.

“ Oh calm down. It happened when he was sixteen. And he said no anyway. It's not like I would have done it. Who knows that a hybrid of a werewolf, a human and a Spark would be like.”

“ You— I’ll deal with that later. So, Stiles. Who is this Lewandow— lady? And what's a Spark.”

“ My mom. My mom stole the leaflet out of the bestiary. She knew all along. And a Spark.... I'm a Spark. I am the last Spark.”


End file.
